


Present

by x0chipilli



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M, Pony Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x0chipilli/pseuds/x0chipilli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pres·ent</p>
<p>1. (adjective) being, existing, or occurring at this time or now; current</p>
<p>2. (noun) Something that is bestowed voluntarily and without compensation, a gift</p>
            </blockquote>





	Present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mugenmine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugenmine/gifts).



> My first Ao3 post. My first BDSM fic. My first in a series of related iPad drawings... oh BBC Sherlock, what hast thou wrought? Also, mugenmine is a crack dealer. Stay away from her.

  


**:: Present ::**

Sherlock groans as John brings the riding crop down on him again, pulling the gag’s bridle hard on the right. Another circle around the room, then. He feels his hands knees rubbed raw by the carpeting; it’ll really have to be replaced someday. His current experiment is almost finished, by his estimation they’ve been doing this for just over two hours. He feels the weight of John on his back, leather and sweat sticking and sliding against his bare back. The next iteration he’ll try is to isolate the enzyme found in the victim's bloodstream. He’s sure it will match the residue left in the restaurant kitchen on Brick Lane. He begins to catalogue, compare and check all the ayurvedic herbs and their properties when another solid smack brings him back to the room. The gag is tight in his mouth and his nostrils flare with the effort of staying out of his own head. It’s nearly impossible. John’s knees dig into his sides, he is saying something filthy and loving, but Sherlock is already on to the new violin concerto he is practicing in his mind even as John’s hot breath whispers fiercely in his ears.

It’s another 40 minutes of John riding him around the room before Sherlock begins to tire. Finally the increasing demand of the present begins to have a fighting chance against the part of him that refuses to shut down. John’s promises as he rides him around once again, the crack of the crop on his thighs, the chemical compound of cyanide. His head being jerked back, making him buck. An algorithm for Lestrade’s hair. The exhaustion in his shaking limbs. John pushing his head to the floor roughly, his voice beginning to cut in “gonna fuck you so hard... first gonna fuck your mouth and then...” An odd, childhood memory of an ant farm he once had. John’s hands, slick around his cock, coaxing it to grow, teasing it to attention, helping Sherlock’s body fight the good fight... and then the familiar sensation of John’s fingers gently opening him, inserting the stimulator pushing it up it against his prostra- The words to the 2008 Olympics official opening song, in Mandarin. Then translated to French.

And then John is pulling him back into a kneeling position and restraining him and his arms are really too far back and there’s searing pain when he bends forward and it’s all he can do to sit up straight to avoid the agony. John spreads Sherlock’s knees wide, slides himself between them. The fermentation process of Guinness.

“That’s right,” says John with a steady gaze. “Bending over just tightens them. It’s gonna take you all your strength to sit properly. Meantime, you’re mine.”

It does take all his strength. Sherlock's limbs are twitching, sweat dripping off him, shoulder blades screaming as John removes the gag, slowly rubs oil into his body, taking more time to tire him out. Sherlock’s muscles spasm under John’s steady hands. He shows Sherlock the new finger vibrator, slides it deliciously over his body; around his nipples and down his belly to his now aching cock. John kisses Sherlock hard, then inhales, taking his air away. He does it again and again until Sherlock is lightheaded, thrashing against himself,  the mix of pain and pleasure possessing him as surely as any invading demon could. His can feel himself on a precipice and the panic in his own eyes as John meets them with a wicked gleam in his own - just as he turns on the vibrator and swiftly leans down, taking Sherlock into his mout- 3.1415926535 8979323846 2643383279 5028841971 6939937510 5820974944 5923078164 0628620899 8628034825 3421170679...

The room has grown dark around them, enveloping everything in a soft blue light. Curled on the floor together Sherlock stares at John’s face. It is a map of shadow and light and attention. He’s looking at Sherlock, an unasked question on his lips. Sherlock sees John’s face clearly. He loves seeing it like this - it is perfect and beautiful and Sherlock is home. They’re alive and together. He is present, here and now with John, at least in this moment, and he revels in that miracle. He pulls John’s face to his and kisses him, whispering “loveyouthankyouloveyouloveyou...” even as John’s face begins to blur, the outside world becoming softer, the concerto returning and he knows who killed the girl on Brick Lane...

OWARI

 


End file.
